


if this storm ends and i don't see you

by thismagichour



Series: Sometimes I Still Feel The Bruise: critrole rsweek 2018 [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 10:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thismagichour/pseuds/thismagichour
Summary: Caleb and Yasha are kindred spirits. They share a watch, and learn a very little bit more about each other. And Caleb practices his Celestial. Another fic for critrole rsweek!





	if this storm ends and i don't see you

**Author's Note:**

> My third fic, and fourth piece for critrole rsweek! I love this friendship so much, and I'm so excited to see where it goes, honestly. Any and all mistakes are mine, I'm trying this new thing where I just post something what I've written it, as opposed to just agonizing over it for like three months and then deciding to just get it over with. How's it going so far?

The storm comes in the late afternoon, and it does not show any signs of clearing. Caleb takes the first watch with Yasha, and they both eschew taking shelter to sit in the mud, to let the rain come down on their faces. Caleb’s coat and books are held by Nott, who uses them as a makeshift pillow as she sleeps. The first few hours of watch go in comfortable silence between the two of them, the water slowly soaking them through to the bone. Caleb should feel cold. He is hyper aware of Yasha’s presence next to him, solid and unyielding. He is fairly certain she has not even shifted in the last few hours. The lightning in the distance slowly but surely comes in their direction. 

“Are you ever afraid of the storm?” Caleb says in Celestial, his voice rough from the damp and disuse. Yasha turns her head, examines him with her mismatched eyes. Caleb does his best not to shift away from the weight of her gaze.

“No,” she says at last, turning her head back towards the thunder. Her skin glows with the rain, and something a bit more than the rain. Caleb prefers when she does not look at him. Her eyes are unnerving.

“Never?” Caleb asks.

“The storm is part of me,” Yasha says, “as much as fire is a part of you. Are you afraid of the fire you wield?” Caleb looks at her in silence. After a moment, Yasha looks at him and grimaces. She ducks her head, tries herself best to make herself smaller to some success.

“That was a stupid question, I - I’m sorry.” Yasha says, quietly. She shifts a bit, turns herself back out away from him. They spend several more moments in silence, watching the lightning play amongst the trees only a few miles off. Caleb again is unnaturally aware of her, can tell her body is tense and unhappy. He lets her off the hook.

“I am not afraid of fire.” Caleb says, barely loud enough over the pouring rain. The minute loosening of her shoulders is the only sign she has heard him for a long time.

“It is just, sometimes, you go away when you - never mind,” Yasha manages haltingly. Only she could make Celestial sound stilted.

“You go away more often than I do,” Caleb says, very seriously.

“You like to do that a lot, with the rest of them,” Yasha says, “act like you do not know what they mean when you are uncomfortable.”

“You speak like one with experience,” he says.

“Yes,” she says.

“I am serious, though. I am not afraid of fire. Though it might seem that way.” He opens his palm out toward her so she can see the gentle spark of a firebolt forming before he closes his hand around it.

“Then?”

“What I am afraid of is this,” he says, still looking at his clenched fist.

“Your…hand?”

“What it has done,” Caleb says, fixing his eyes on hers, “and what it has yet to do.” He feels the tension shift abruptly between the two of them.

“I know what it is to be afraid of yourself,” Yasha says, her eyes glowing unnaturally in the darkness. How wild she seems, and how utterly, desperately human he must seem to her. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Caleb asks, because it is something he has heard Nott say many times.

“Uh, no,” Yasha says, “do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Caleb says, relieved, “but if you need someone to talk to, I am willing to listen.”

“That is kind of you. I will remember.”

There is a noise about a hundred feet to the right of them. Caleb turns toward the sound, weak human eyes unseeing in the dark. He slaps Yasha’s arm unthinkingly and points in to the trees. Her whole body shifts silently towards the sound, her hand reaching towards her sword as naturally as breathing.

“Should I wake the others?” Caleb breathes, reaching out to touch Yasha’s bicep delicately. He squints, trying again to see, but it is useless. All he can see is darkness.

“Do not wake them yet,” Yasha says, “you and I, we can handle it, yeah?” Caleb laughs nervously and grips her arm harder. 

“Shall I?” He says, using his free hand to conjure four lights into his palm. When Yasha nods, he directs them off into the distance. The sound abates for a moment, and then continues on towards them. Yasha tenses as shapes come into view, but Caleb can still barely make them out. He brings the lights in closer and sees them - a pack of large wolves stalks their way.

“I should wake the others,” he says, and begins to move backwards, but Yasha holds one arm out for him to stop.

“Just stay behind me,” she says, “and uh, maybe close your eyes.” He follows her not quite command instantly, shutting his eyes and plunging himself again into complete darkness. He feels a rush of wind on his face and a strange unidentified sound, but he still keeps his eyes firmly closed. There is a silence, and then a whimpering. He risks it, he opens one eye very, very slightly, and sees that the skeleton wings he has only seen once have erupted from Yasha’s back. The wolves are all cowering and backing away, and Yasha stands, a dark presence emanating and making her even larger. Caleb experiences a single instant of cold fear up his spine, but it vanishes as quickly as it came. The wolves, as one, turn and run off. When Yasha turns around to him, he is openly staring at her, and she seems embarrassed. The wings rescind into her spine, and she is just Yasha.

“Most people are afraid when I do that,” she says, shy.

“I am afraid of you all the time,” Caleb says, faintly, “so the wings have very little effect.”

“I don’t want you to be,” Yasha says. “Afraid of me.” Caleb forces himself to make eye contact with her, and smiles. There is something about the way she holds herself, an awkwardness, a disconnect with her own skin, that reminds him so much of himself. He wonders if she feels the way he does, that she is something too sharp to hold.

“If I am being truthful, I am afraid of most things,” Caleb says, “but I am not afraid of you.”

“I think our watch is probably done, I should wake Molly,” Yasha says, breaking eye contact.

“No, you should wake Beau,” Caleb says, slyly, “I’ll take Molly.”

“Why do you say it like that?” Yasha says, ducking her head to examine him more closely.

“No reason,” Caleb says. He gives Yasha’s arm single pat and turns to find Molly.

“Caleb,” Yasha says, reverting to Common, “I enjoyed talking with you.”

“And I with you,” Caleb says, still walking.

“Caleb,” Yasha says, and something about her tone forces Caleb to turn back to her. “I am glad you are not afraid of me. And I hope…that someday you are no longer afraid of yourself.”

Caleb has no response to that, but Yasha does not seem to expect one. As he stands there, struck still and silent at her words, she walks past him to wake the others. When they leave the next morning, she is gone again, chasing the storm.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me @calebwidogasts talking too much about critical role


End file.
